


How To Be an Angel

by theEmpressGeneral



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AZIRAFELL, Bastard!Aziraphale, Demon!Aziraphale, Fluff, M/M, angels rising and falling, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing, major angst, sad demon hours, satan is a meanie head, this has probably already been done before, top!Crowley - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 09:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20703608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theEmpressGeneral/pseuds/theEmpressGeneral
Summary: After Armageddon't, Crowley and Aziraphale try to settle back into their normal lives. But then Aziraphale Falls, and Crowley has to figure out how to save his angel before it's too late.





	1. Chapter 1

Two beings, a not-quite-angel and his not-quite-demon, sat peacefully on the couch of one A.Z. Fell's Bookshop. The demi-angel reclined in a cushy armchair reading a book on moral philosophy, while his companion scrolled through Reddit, sprawled across a loveseat nearby. It had been exactly 8 days, 4 hours, and 24 minutes since the pair had returned from their respective kidnappings. So far, neither of them had shown any signs of lasting trauma. 

Aziraphale set his book down. "Dear, what exactly did you _do _as a demon? Before our Arrangement, that is." 

Crowley powered off his phone and shrugged. "This and that. Low-level stuff, mainly. A temptation here and there, minor annoyances. Like - well, you know when you go to open the door after a long day and you drop your keys?"

Aziraphale nodded.

"Yeah, that was one of mine. Brilliant, wasn't it? I also invented USB plugs. I was quite the golden boy down in Hell."

"Do you miss it?" Aziraphale's voice was quiet, but his eyes burned with strange intensity.

"A little, yeah. I mean, it's not like I can't still do those things, but it's not for Head Office's sake anymore."

"Hmm." Aziraphale nodded. Then he asked, "Do you ever wonder what might have happened if - if I'd Fallen when you did?"

Crowley shrugged amiably. "Not really, no. Why?"

"It's been on my mind lately." As Crowley's face creased with worry, he hurried to add, "Not that I wish I had, or anything. I've just been thinking . . . when I spoke to the Voice of God . . . and and when the angels tried to kill you disguised as me . . . what if Heaven's not actually good, Crowley?"

"What do you mean, angel?" Crowley looked perfectly bemused. "That Hell's the good guys and Heaven's actually bad?" 

"No, no, of course not." Aziraphale chuckled. "Hell's definitely bad. But maybe - well, maybe Heaven is too. And if that's true, the whole system is corrupt, and there's no point in even trying to be good, is there? You can do whatever you want, because _nothing matters!" _Aziraphale let out a high, crazed giggle. His eyes were wide and frightened. Crowley, concerned, got up and rushed over. 

"Angel, what's gotten into you?" He put a hand to Aziraphale's forehead and his eyes widened. "Holy shit, you're burning up! Let's get you to bed. You just wait there, okay, and I'll make you a cup of tea. Just remain calm. I'll go to the drugstore and pick up some fever medication. In the meantime, take some Ibuprofen. And for whoever's sake, lie down. You're going to have a fit." 

"Yeet yourself into the Void," Aziraphale mumbled. "God isn't real. _Dum spiro spero." _

Crowley hesitated. "Indeed, angel," he said, and rushed off before the other could see the genuine fear on his face. 

Aziraphale's condition only worsened. By nightfall he was insensible. Crowley raced to and fro, fulfilling the angel's many needs. He researched Aziraphale's symptoms and found his angel was suffering from cancer, Alzheimer's, lymphoma, chronic fatigue, and arthritis. After that he gave up trying to diagnose. 

Aziraphale got exponentially worse after nightfall. He called out for Crowley, sobbed, pleaded, prayed, became delusional, and spoke in tongues. He reached a breaking point around 2 am, when Crowley entered the bedroom to see him levitating, surrounded by a tornado of objects.

"Aziraphale? Angel, please calm down," he said, exasperated. The angel's eyes snapped open and Crowley was stunned to see that his eyes had turned completely black.

"It's Azirafell." 


	2. CHAPTER TWO - in which our angel switches sides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley attempts to turn his now-fallen angel back to how he was. It doesn't go well.

Crowley blinked. "What?"

"My name is Azirafell," the creature repeated, slowly lowering to the floor. 

"Yeah, I got that. Who are you? And where the Heaven is my angel?"

"The one you knew as Aziraphale is gone. There is only Azirafell now. I have Fallen."

"No," Crowley whispered. "It can't be."

"It is." Azirafell blinked those awful black eyes. "God has cast me out of Heaven for my sins." 

"I don't believe you." Crowley's voice was growing stronger. "My angel could never Fall. Where is he?"

"I AM YOUR ANGEL," the demon thundered, spreading a pair of pitch-black wings. "I have Fallen." 

"But I'm not Risen!" Crowley cried, gradually growing more hysterical. "How is it that you've Fallen and I haven't Risen?"

Azirafell shrugged, and a hint of his old demeanor came back. "I'm terribly sorry. You deserve to Rise, my dear boy."

"And you didn't deserve to Fall," Crowley snapped. He paced back and forth, muttering to himself. "How can we reverse this? Maybe if I went to Heaven and talked to them I could . . . they could take you back . . ."

Azirafell shook his head. "Accept it, dear boy. I have Fallen. I cannot go back." There was a note of deep sadness in his voice, and Crowley ached to hug him.

"Well what can we do?" he asked quietly in a tone of defeat. Now it was Azirafell's turn for pity. 

"I don't know. I've never Fallen before." 

"You could be like me. Demonic but only a little, avoiding evil as much as you can." 

"No, that wouldn't work. I want to take revenge on Heaven." Azirafell concentrated. "D'you think Satan would help?"

"Doubt it. They cast me out; they won't be likely to welcome me back."

"Even if you were at the side of a demon with an army of evil so powerful even Heaven couldn't stop it?"

"Aziraphale-fell," Crowley corrected himself. "We'll find a way to get you back to Heaven. You don't have to go full demon." 

"What if I want to?" There was a devilish look in Azirafell's eye that Crowley definitely didn't like.

"Now listen here," he snarled, getting in Azirafell's face. "You're not my angel. You're an impostor, and I'm going to get the real you back. The Aziraphale I know wouldn't even _think _of doing evil." 

"Aziraphale is dead," the new demon growled right back. "There is only Azirafell, and I'm not scared of you at all."

"Fine. You wanna act like a demon? I'll treat you like one. I've still got some holy water left. I won't hesitate to use it on you."

Fear flickered in Azirafell's eyes, but only for a moment. "You wouldn't do that," he sneered. "You're too in love with me to risk it."

"I'm not in love with you, I'm in love with Aziraphale. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"AZIRAPHALE IS DEAD!" the demon thundered."Accept it, Crowley. He's never coming back!"

Crowley grabbed Azirafell's lapels and shoved him up against the wall, just as he had done with his angel barely two weeks ago. His furious yellow eyes bored into Azirafell's black ones. "Listen here, you son of a bitch, I'm getting my angel back," he hissed. "Whatever it takes. And you're going to help me. Now you're going to do everything I tell you, or I'll vaporize you, understand?"

Azirafell nodded mutely. Crowley let him go.

"Angel lessons start tomorrow," he called over his shoulder as he sauntered lazily away. "Don't sleep in." 

Azirafell watched him go. A hint of blue twinkled briefly in his black eyes before fading away. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"BUDDY YOU'RE A YOUNG MAN HARD MAN YA GONNA TAKE ON THE WORLD SOMEDAY!" the stereo bellowed. Azirafell groaned and put the pillow over his head. This had been going on for approximately half an hour. 

The music got louder as Crowley entered his room, carrying the stereo. He was singing along at the top of his lungs, and as he reached the chorus he kicked Azirafell.

"Ow!" the demon yelped, jumping up. "WHAT?" 

"Get up. Lessons start now. And don't think just because you used to be my angel I'll go easy on you. You'll do what I say, or else."

"Or else what?" Azirafell grinned.

Crowley brandished a spray bottle. He squeezed the trigger and covered the demon in a fine mist. "You die."

"Okay, fine." Azirafell struggled to his feet. "Where do we begin?"

"With moral philosophy." Crowley miracled a chalkboard into existence. "We'll start with Plato."

Azirafell groaned. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week passed. All of the new demon's time was spent with homework and lessons. He was so buried in books, he had no time to even think about doing evil or practice his lurking. He grimly realized that this was probably Crowley's plan. The senior demon seemed to take a perverse glee in torturing him. 

Nevertheless, he was not unaffected. Azirafell often caught him crying over something of Aziraphale's, or getting absolutely sloshed and screaming at God. And every time, he felt a twinge more pity.

Another week went by. They finished their unit on moral philosophy and moved on to practical ethics. Azirafell made Crowley's breakfast every day. He started to make the demon's coffee the way he liked it, black, boiling hot, and fresh from the bean. His eyes shimmered a bright midnight blue.

One day Azirafell came into the den and saw Crowley preparing to go out. He gave him his coffee and then stood, perplexed, watching Crowley layer on jackets. "Where are you going?"

"Our lesson today is practical, Fell." Crowley took a deep sip of his coffee. "Get dressed. We're going out."

"Yes!" Azirafell hurried to put on his coat and hat, as it was snowing softly outside. Once he was ready, they ventured out together for the first time in weeks. 

Crowley walked fast, and Azirafell struggled to keep up. "Where are we going?" he called as they slogged through the snow. 

"You'll see," Crowley tossed over his shoulder. Azirafell shivered and kept going.

They walked for what seemed like forever, through markets and crowds of busy last-minute Christmas shoppers. Azirafell itched to make some mischief, but he kept his hands to himself, afraid of what Crowley might do. 

Eventually they reached a dilapidated warehouse. Crowley creaked open the door and they slipped inside. Warm light illuminated the space, emanating from a group of candles gathered around a picture of the Virgin Mary. Folding chairs were arranged in rows leading up to the altar, where a ragged man holding a Bible preached to the assembly. The air was redolent with good food-smells and warmth. 

Azirafell backed away, hissing, as Crowley hopped from foot to foot. A couple of the parishioners turned to look at them; Azirafell miracled their attention away. "What kind of foul scheme is this?" he spat into the other demon's ear. "Do you want to get us both discorporated?"

"Don't be so dramatic," Crowley scoffed, gritting his teeth. "This is your first act of kindness. These are the homeless and destitute from this neighborhood. After the sermon, they'll be fed. You and I will see to it that all their fortunes improve within the next couple of months."

Azirafell gaped. "You can't be serious."

"I assure you I am."

"But I'm a _demon!" _

"You're an angel. Or you will be, anyhow. Come on. I'm doing it too." Crowley slunk off to the side and took a place behind the buffet, still hissing slightly in pain. Azirafell followed, stepping gingerly and wincing. Grimly he took up a pair of tongs.

He looked out over the congregation and despite himself felt a little spark warm his heart. They were singing now, all of them, the old and the young, the sick and the healthy, voices raised in harmony. Their voices rose up and filled the room, encasing everyone in a familiar Christmas carol. Azirafell closed his eyes and remembered heavenly hosts singing praises to a wide-eyed baby in a bed of straw. He smiled gently. Beside him, Crowley watched the return of his angel with eyes full of mingled pain and love.

The singing faded out, and the demon came back to himself. Azirafell barely had time to notice his feet didn't hurt anymore before the worshippers swarmed the buffet table, holding out plates. Azirafell scooped steaming mounds of food onto plate after plate, watching as the parishioners gobbled it down. Once everyone was served, he went and sat amongst them. Crowley watched from the shadows as he chatted excitably, finding out people's life stories, listening and comforting with equal skill. They flocked to him eagerly, sensing the goodness he had once been famous for. Behind his sunglasses, Azirafell's eyes glowed iridescent blue.

When it was finally time to go home, Crowley emerged from the darkness and called a cab. "Fancy a dinner at the Ritz?" he asked casually. Azirafell was practically glowing from so many good deeds.

"Yes, actually, I think I'd like that very much." Azirafell smiled, and Crowley saw clearly that his charge was awfully close to Rising. Hope kindled in his chest like a candle in the dark.

Azirafell leaned in all of the sudden and kissed Crowley firmly. The demon stepped back, astonished, and put a hand to his mouth. "What the Heaven was that?" he demanded.

"Oh dear - I'm terribly sorry - please forgive me," Azirafell blurted. His expression was that of a deer caught in headlights. He backed away.

"Aziraphale, wait!" Crowley cried, forgetting in his excitement that the one who had just kissed him was not his angel. The demon's face darkened.

"It's Azira_fell!" _he yelled, and turned to run away. At that very moment a semi from Dover carrying a supply of white dove's feathers sped past, colliding with the fleeing demon. There was a heart-stopping moment as the semi went flying and Azirafell vaulted into the air. Then he skidded across the pavement and the semi ran off the side of the road.

"NO!" Crowley screamed. He ran across the road and cradled the demon's body in his arms. Azirafell's head lolled to the side, and there was a bloody cavity where his chest should have been. Crowley knew the moment he saw him that Azirafell had died - or rather, discorporated.

"Shit," he murmured. Azirafell must have respawned at his home base: the very center of hell.

Crowley raised a tear-stained face to the impassive Heavens, pain contorting his features. White feathers drifted slowly down, stained with blood. 


	3. CHAPTER THREE - in which our angel meets Satan & learns the true meaning of hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is back to himself now, but he's trapped in Hell. Can he make it out in time, or will the forces of Hell claim him forever?

Azirafell woke to darkness and whispers. They grew gradually louder until he could hear them chanting "Fallen . . . Fallen . . . Fallen . . ." Just as they reached a peak, he was abruptly dropped into the middle of a dark and crowded hallway. He looked around frantically and was shocked to see that he was wearing his old, light-colored suit. Looking in a dark glass nearby, he saw that he also had his eyes back, although they were surrounded by a thick ring of black.

"Hey, you there. What are you doing here?"

"What?" Aziraphale whipped around. There was a hulking man crawling with bees staring at him in confusion. 

"You're not a demon. What are you doin' down here?"

"I'm, uh, visiting," Aziraphale said, panicking. "Got an important - important message for Satan."

"Do ya now?" The demon turned and beckoned to him. "Come on, then. I'll take you there." 

"Oh, that's not necessary. I know the way." And he did, somehow: in a subconscious way, he could sense the evil pouring off like a bad smell that you can barely detect.

"Nah, c'mon. I know all the shortcuts. Name's Honeybee. I'm the Keeper of the Keys 'round here."

"Nice to meet you," the reformed angel squeaked. "Um - is Crowley here?"

"Crowley?" Honeybee squinted suspiciously. "No, of course not. He was banished. Where have you been?"

"Yes, of course. I had forgotten." Aziraphale felt a twinge of pity for his demon. He didn't know - he hadn't believed Crowley had been exiled too. He must be terribly lonely.

"Shall we get on with it, then?" the demon asked. "Satan won't wait forever, you know."

"Oh . . . yes, rather. I suppose so."

Honeybee nodded and set off down the hallway. Aziraphale followed, scared out of his mind but determined. If Crowley could survive Hell, he could too.

Pretty soon it became clear he would be able to just slip away. Aziraphale got more and more anxious as they descended into the bowels of Hell. Was he really going to have to meet _Satan? _

"Here we are," Honeybee announced cheerfully. "Throne room of Satan. In you go, then."

"Hm? Oh - yes - right - of course," Aziraphale stammered. "Do I just, um, do I just walk in?"

Honeybee shrugged. "Yeah."

"Right then," the angel said, the color fading from his face. "Tickety-boo." Then he opened the door and stepped inside. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Bentley screeched to a stop outside of a nondescript office building. Crowley got out without bothering to park and marched up to the door at the entrance to Heaven and Hell. He tugged, but it didn't move. He pushed; it didn't budge. Growling, he worried it, eyes unusually bright behind his dark glasses. Finally he drew back and the realization broke upon him that he knew exactly what he needed to do. He backed up a ways, then lowered his head and hurtled through the door, followed by a halo of shattered glass.

Once in, he brushed himself off and strode into the ground. As the sky darkened, a determined smirk crept onto his face. "I'm coming, Aziraphale," he hissed. "I'm coming to get you."

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Satan's throne was as wide as three horse carts and taller than a bull. It sat solidly at the far end of the room, illuminated by four blazing braziers, and it was carved out of black rock that seemed to absorb all light. 

"Hello?" Aziraphale called, timidly advancing. "Is - is anybody home?" He squinted at the throne. A figure sat in it, a dreadfully familiar figure with hair like flames sprawled over the chair. Aziraphale stopped ten feet away from the base of the throne, stunned. Yellow eyes gleamed at him from the darkness. "Crowley, my dear? Is that you?"

"Who's _Crowley?" _His old friend leaned forward, and his eyes were hard and cruel. "My name is Crawly."

"Oh, goodness preserve us," Aziraphale whispered. "Who _are _you?"

"Who am I?" The Crowley-that-wasn't spread his arms. "I'm the King of Hell, of course."

"No."

"Yes. I defeated Satan over 3,000 years ago. Now ask your question, _angel, _and leave. I rather detest your lot."

"Crowley, please." Hot tears sprang to Aziraphale's eyes and dribbled down his cheeks. "I know you're in there. Listen to me. _I love you." _

"WHO is CROWLEY?" the demon bellowed. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm CRAWLY, King of Hell, and you WILL bow to me!"

"I forgive you! I want to go to Alpha Centauri!" the angel shouted back, crying. "Let's run away together! I want to go as fast as you! I - _I love you!" _

Aziraphale heard a door slam. He looked behind him and saw the identical twin of his Crowley running up. "Angel! You're back!" he cried with relief. "Are you ready? We have to go."

"How could you?" the angel whispered, a look of complete and utter heartbreak on his face. "I said I loved you, and you didn't even know me."

"You - you love me?" Crowley gasped. "But - wha - I thought - you said I go too fast for you!"

"Yeah! You drive like a maniac!" the angel sobbed. "Oh lord, did you read it metaphorically?"

"Yeah, obviously!" The demon paused. "You didn't mean it that way?"

"No!"

"Oh. Well, then." Crowley paused awkwardly. "Shall we get out of here, then?"

"Oh, no. Not until you apologize." Aziraphale folded his arms. 

"Wha - I - I didn't say that! _He _did!" Crowley pointed to his double sitting on the throne. "That's Satan, that is! Takes the form of whoever or whatever you fear most."

"But I don't fear you." 

"Maybe not, but you fear my disdain, don't you? My demon side. He's messing with you, angel. Don't let him win." 

Aziraphale hesitated. "If I'm Risen again, why was I sent here? And why haven't you?"

Crowley sucked his teeth and rocked back on his heels. "Ooh. Okay. Here's the thing, angel. You haven't actually . . . you're not actually an angel anymore. You're not a demon either. You're in between. So'm I." There was a _fwump _and Crowley's wings sprang out, not their customary sable but a beautiful mottled gray. As Aziraphale stared in wonder, Crowley said softly, "Take a look at yours."

Aziraphale nodded and unfolded his wings. Wonderingly he stared as soft dove-gray feathers enfolded him. "I'm not a demon anymore," he said softly."

"No, you're not." Crowley laid his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders. "You're my angel, and you always will be." 

The not-quite-angel smiled gently. "And you're my dear boy."

Beautiful hope sparked in Crowley's eyes, visible behind his sunglasses, and he took Aziraphale's hand. "Let's go, angel." They started to walk away, but then a high, childish voice stopped them.

"I didn't say you could go." The voice was petulant and vaguely familiar. The couple turned to see Adam Young, former Antichrist and their godson, sitting on the throne.

"Don't be fooled. It's still him," Crowley hissed. "He's just taken on a new form."

"You're not getting out of here," Adam/Satan said, advancing. Aziraphale gripped Crowley's hand tighter. The Devil raised a hand and chains snaked up to wrap around the couple's hands, wrenching them apart and growing uncomfortably tight.

"Let us _go," _Crowley hissed, struggling. "You have no right to keep us here. We are not your subjects."

"No. You're mutants. And I'm going to kill you, for good this time."

"You can't do this!" Aziraphale shouted. "There will - there will be consequences!"

"From who? Heaven wants you both dead anyways. Nobody, not even the Almighty, would object to your demise."

"That's not true! Aziraphale, don't listen to him. I have a plan."

"Well get on with it! We don't have much time." The chains, which had been slowly tightening, began to grow hot. 

"Okay." Crowley took a deep breath and then grabbed Aziraphale's hands. "I love you, Aziraphale. I always have. You're so pure and perfect in every way and I want to spend eternity with you."

"Oh, my dear boy." Aziraphale smiled fondly. "I love you too. Of course I do. How could I not love you, when you're so amazing and beautiful and devoted to me?"

Crowley reached out and cupped his angel's face in his hands. Tenderly he leaned in and kissed him, but there was a hidden fire to it, 6,000 years of passion barely repressed. He pulled back quickly, anxious, but Aziraphale grabbed his lapels and pulled him back in with equal passion. Their chains melted away, and the two angel/demons rose, up and out of Hell, finding when they opened their eyes that they were in the Ritz. 

"The Ritz caters weddings, you know," Aziraphale said, eyes shining with love. Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"Do they now?" He turned and signaled to the waitress. "Table for two, please. By the window."

She nodded and scurried away. Crowley summoned two glasses of champagne and gave one to Aziraphale. "Happy engagement, angel," he said softly, clinking their glasses.

"Happy engagement, dear."

\- THE END - 


End file.
